


If you die, I'm gonna kill you.

by Minako1x2



Series: Tumblr Marvel Prompts [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky loves Steve a lot, M/M, Pre-Fall, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve, Secret Relationship, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minako1x2/pseuds/Minako1x2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has a lot of reckless ideas, and they make Bucky nervous. This one isn't any better. And if Steve dies . . . </p><p> </p><p>Of all the half-witted, slap-dashed, ridiculous, harebrained schemes Bucky had ever heard, this was the worst. And he had heard a lot in his day. After all, he was friends with Steve Rogers. </p><p>“It’s never gonna work, Steve.”</p><p>“Sure it will.”</p><p>“Don’t see how.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you die, I'm gonna kill you.

Of all the half-witted, slap-dashed, ridiculous, harebrained schemes Bucky had ever heard, this was the worst. And he had heard a lot in his day. After all, he was friends with Steve Rogers.

“It’s never gonna work, Steve.”

“Sure it will.”

“Don’t see how.”

“Just trust me.”

Bucky sighed. They’d been trapped under a half-collapsed building for the better part of a day. At least, that was his best guess. Kinda hard to know when there was no sunlight, no real light to be spoken of at all, and all he could see was the vague outline of Steve’s stupid beautiful face. They had limited space for movement, and Bucky could feel something hard and sharp pressing into his lower back. He didn’t dare wiggle around. His right arm was holding up most of his body weight, and his left arm felt funny, kinda numb. He hoped it wasn’t anything serious.

Steve, on the other hand, had been hovering over him the entire time. When they heard the explosion go off, too near and too soon, and with them still inside, Steve had grabbed Bucky, thrown him to the ground and used himself as a damn shield as the building came down around them.

Score one for Hydra. Almost. They weren’t dead yet.

“Just wait it out. The guys will come looking for us,” Bucky said, knowing for a fact that the other Howling Commandos would stop at nothing to recover them--if they were still alive. He had no way of knowing how the battle had turned out, but they had gotten through tight spots before.

“Been waiting,” Steve said, and Bucky thought his voice sounded off. “No reason why we can’t save ourselves.”

“I am not wiggling out from underneath you, and leaving you here while I find a way out.”

“It’s the only way that makes sense.”

“You’re already on top. You go. I’ll wait for you here.” He wasn’t going to tell Steve, but he really wasn’t convinced that his left arm wasn’t broken, and that the sharp mystery thing digging into his back wouldn’t slice him open the second he tried to move.

Steve shook his head, the movement barely visible in the darkness. “Gotta be you, Buck.” His arm buckled a bit, elbow giving out under the strain, and he dipped down closer to Bucky’s face. The debris that had once been a building creaked all around them, and Bucky felt the place shake. Almost as if--

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you holding this building up?”

“Doubt I’m holding up the whole thing, but I may be holding it up off of you, yes.”

Bucky cursed, long and passionate, and bluntly enough that his mother would have sent him to confession for it. There really was only one solution now. “If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”

Steve smiled, knowing his words for the agreement they were. “Not gonna die, Buck,” he said. “And neither are you.”

Turning his head this way and that, Bucky tried to glimpse even the smallest amount of light he could crawl towards. There wasn’t much. The loudest sound around them was Steve’s breathing, which sounded dangerously like when he was younger, smaller, and about to have an asthma attack. Years of instinct spurred Bucky into quick action. Get Steve out. That was all that mattered. Get Steve out, and quickly. Everything else be damned. “Got any thoughts on which way is best? Right or left?”

“Right.”

“All right then.” Bucky shifted carefully, then stopped. “Wait. Your right or mine?”

“Oh, uh, mine.”

“The great strategist Captain America. Okay. Your right, my left.” Shaky though his right arm was from holding his weight for so long, Bucky pushed himself up and pressed his lips to Steve’s. He meant for the kiss to be light, quick, but Steve parted his lips, and Bucky pressed in harder, and when he felt the desperation behind Steve’s mouth, he couldn’t help but respond in kind. But he wasn’t going to fail, and Steve wasn’t going to give up once he was gone. They were going to both get through this. “I’ll be right back,” he said, once he found the strength to stop kissing his best friend, the love of his life, the man for whom the sun rose every morning.

“I’d say no rush, but . . .”

“Smart ass.” He didn’t dare kiss Steve again, even just a peck. He’d never leave, and Steve needed him to get them out. “I know I tell you this all the time, but--don’t do anything stupid till I get back.”

The smallest, breathiest laugh filled the small space they occupied. “You won’t leave any stupid behind for me once you go anyway.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

And it was only then, after their familiar, habitual banter that Bucky finally found the courage to move. The object at his back clawed at him, and he only barely swallowed the cry of pain that rose up within him.

“You okay, Buck?”

“Fine. Ya know, aside from having had a building fall on me.” He could feel the blood along his back down, and his left arm was definitely broken, useless. He scooted sideways, under Steve’s arm, wincing every time he hit a piece of debris that had probably been nails or glass. He had to lean himself on his broken arm and shove aside large chunks of wood, partial doors, and window frames. He crawled and shoved and gasped for breath for an indeterminate amount of time, until he was soaked in sweat from the effort, and it didn’t matter that it was dark because he couldn’t see through the pain anyway. When the first bright ray of light hit his eyes, after kicking away the remains of a wall, Bucky pressed his face into his arm and counted to twenty before trying to see.

Voices called out. Shouting orders, bellowing names into the confusion, and speaking in hushed whispers about matters grave and depressing.

It took Bucky a minute, but he realized they were speaking English. Not German. Friends then. Allies.

One roaring voice even sounded familiar. Dum-Dum Dugan.

Bucky tried to call for help once, but his voice fell flat, dusty and weak. So he tried again, and again, until finally someone heard him, and hands were everywhere, tossing aside wreckage, grabbing him and lifting him up. They asked a million questions--Was he okay? Where did it hurt? They called for a medic, and someone pressed a canteen to his lips. The water cleared his throat, and allowed him to speak the only word that mattered. “Steve.”

He pointed, and the others rushed into action. Bucky resisted being moved anywhere further from Steve than where he already stood. Ignored the questions from the medic, who began patching him up anyway. He held on, thinking about only breathing in, and breathing out, and Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.

And then he heard it. “We found him!”

Bucky passed out, the sound of rushing booted feet his lullaby.

#

When he woke up his head was throbbing, and his left arm felt heavy. Rolling his head to the side, he was it was splinted and wrapped, tucked in close to his side. Broken then, as he suspected. The Med Tent was dull and boring, but familiar. The light filtering in was dim and orange--sunset. Blinking to clear his vision, Bucky checked first the bed to his left--empty--then worked up the energy and looked to the right.

Steve. He was flat on his back, head wrapped in bandages that made his blond hair stick up in odd directions, and more and more bandages all along his arms and chest, peeking out from under his torn and bloodied shirt.

Still, he was the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever seen. And he was alive. Thank god.

Steve startled awake, gasping and crying out one single word: “Bucky!”

“Here, Steve. On your left.”

Hearing his voice, Steve immediately calmed from whatever dream had woken him. He turned his head, found Bucky with his bleary gaze and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey, Stevie. You okay?”

“Yeah, I just . . .” That fear returned for a moment, but then he took a deep breath, and Bucky saw the ghosts leave his eyes. “Just a dream. Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better, but yeah. I’m okay.”

“Told you we’d make it.”

“Good thing for you, I wasn’t kidding before, ya know. You die on me, ever, and I’m gonna kill you.”

Steve chuckled, but never took his gaze away from Bucky’s. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Damn straight.”

And then, because they were alone, and because even if someone walked in they could probably chalk it up to their near-death experience, Bucky reached his right hand out into the small space between their beds. Steve smiled, and did the same, just able to brush his fingers against Bucky’s. It wasn’t much of a touch, but it was enough. For now.

“Same goes for you, ya know,” Steve said, curling his fingertips around Bucky’s.

Bucky forced a grin to his face to cover the thoughts that immediately surged. Because Steve dying was unthinkable. Yeah, he was reckless, but he was also Captain America. The serum enhanced his strength, his ability to heal--it would take some doing, or a really lucky bullet, to kill Steve. Bucky could guard him from bullets, take out the other snipers, the soldiers, the tanks. He could protect Steve.

He _would_ protect him. With his life.

Bucky didn’t have any super solider serum running through his veins. He could bleed out quickly, take a bullet and have his insides ripped up faster than anyone could call a medic. He could step in front of anything that threatened Steve, and take the hit instead. The likelihood of Bucky surviving the war was far lower than Steve’s chances.

But he would never tell Steve that. Because it would make Steve stupid. More stupid than he was already--holding an entire damn building on his back just to keep Bucky safe.

Steve was what mattered. Steve was important.

“Sure thing, pal,” Bucky said, knowing that none of his maudlin thoughts showed on his face. He was a master of masks.

Steve shifted in his bed, moving closer, and managing to really squeeze Bucky’s hand.

Bucky closed his eyes and focused on that. That hand. His lifeline.

He would protect Steve, even if it meant walking through the fires of Hell, or the ice, he’d heard some people say that Hell was icy, cold and unforgiving. He would protect Steve, at all costs. Til the end of the line.

**Author's Note:**

> Oddly enough, this is the first prompt I got for my OTP stucky!!
> 
> Thanks to Sparqel on Tumblr for this one! ^_^
> 
> I'm on Tumblr [minako1x2](http://www.minako1x2.tumblr.com) fangirling and reading and writing all the time! Come say hi!


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